


kiss kiss, molly's lips

by cordsycords



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), F/M, Kissing, Look at the title, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, like a lot of kissing, the plot of this fic is literally just kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13931913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordsycords/pseuds/cordsycords
Summary: Molly's pretty open about who he kisses.Written for a prompt on the Critical Role Kink Meme.





	kiss kiss, molly's lips

_1\. exploration_

 

Yasha is the first of the group, and only is due to having the pleasure of meeting Molly before everyone else had. Like many of their best ideas, it comes to them while they’re high, sitting in the carnival’s vardo with Yasha blocking the door from any intruders.

 

He doesn’t remember how the conversation turned from whatever they were talking about before and onto his barely-existent love life, but weirder things have happened before while they were high. He tends to be a talkative guy, even more so with illicit substance coursing through his veins. Yasha doesn’t complain, which is one of her best features.

 

“So there was this one boy, I think it was three towns back now, and you shoulda seen him Yash. Blue eyes, blond hair, ass, the whole package. I looked at him from across the room, he looks at me, blah blah blah, and five minutes later we’re upstairs, and you know what he does?” He lifts his head from the ground to look at her, waiting for her to ask.

 

She, of course, doesn’t.

 

“He grabs the tail,” Molly shouts, letting his head fall back to the floor while he holds his arms up in the air, “What is it with fuckin’ humans and tails? Do they think we get off on it? Give it a good yank and that’s all you need to get a tiefling off? Or do you think they’ve all spent so much time raising goats they’ve developed a shameful fascination?

 

“Sounds rough,” Yasha replies, still staring at the vardo’s ceiling with awe.

 

“It fucking hurts, is what it does. Now you know me, I’m not averse to having a little pain with my pleasure, but I go asking for it thank you very much.”

 

He feels his high begin to get away from him, so he sits up to take another puff from his pipe, taking his time to breathe in and exhale.

 

“What about you, Yasha?” He asks while smoke billows from his nose.

 

“Huh?” She asks, not even turning to look at him.

 

He laughs, “You have any suitors? Paramours? Beaus? Men? Women? What do you like, anyway, you’ve never said.”

 

She shrugs her shoulders, “I dunno.”

 

He groans, “No need to be coy, friend, never was one to repeat anything I heard while high.” He crosses his heart with his hand.

 

She looks at him, confusedly, “No, I don’t know.” She repeats.

 

His jaw drops, “Really?”

 

She shakes her head.

 

“Mr. Celestial keeps you so busy you can’t even get a good shag in?”

 

“That’s not his name.”

 

“You’re changing the subject.”

 

She falls silent, looking down at her hands in her lap.

 

“So you’ve done nothing? Not even gotten that chance to find out what you like?”

 

“No.”

 

“Do you not want to? No shame in that either.”

 

“No, it’s not that I don’t think. It’s just,” she pauses to collect her thoughts before continuing, “Before now, I didn’t spend a lot of time around… anyone. I don’t have a lot of practice. Doing anything. With people.”

 

“Really? With your charming demeanour? I thought there’d be people lining out the door.”

 

She glares at him, her displeasure at his sarcasm loud and clear between the both of them.

 

He sighs, staring back at his friend with some odd mix of pity and deep thought. Yasha wishes that she could read Molly better and figure out whatever is going on in his head. Whatever is it, there’s a high probability that it will end up with her punching someone.

 

With an over-embellished gasp, Molly stands up with a flourish, pointing his finger down to Yasha still sitting on the floor, “I’ve got an idea.”

 

“Oh joy.”

 

He sneers at her sarcasm, “We. Should. Kiss.” He says, spreading his arms as if it’s the best idea he’s had in weeks. Considering what shit they’ve gotten into together, it’s definitely not his worst.

 

“Why?”

 

“It’d be educational for you. Figure out what you like before someone tries to pull your tail.”

 

“I don’t have a tail.”

 

“Not the point. What do you think, Yasha?”

 

She contemplates his proposal as he continues to look at her with his shit-eating grin. She sends a silent prayer up to her guide before she stands up, rising to her full height, a good inch or two taller than Molly.

 

“Okay,” she agrees, “What do we do?”

 

“I honestly didn’t think you’d take me up on this.”

 

“Molly.”

 

“Right. Well first, you gotta get a little closer than that. Can’t kiss you from two feet away.”

 

She takes a couple forward until they’re right next to each other, bright crimson eyes directly meeting mismatched ones, “What now.”

 

“Now I lean in and-”

 

She puts a finger up to his lips when he gets too close, “Wait, I wasn’t ready. Count it down.”

 

He huffs against her finger, but backs up again anyways, waiting for a second before she nods for him to continue.

 

“Three,” He says, slowly advancing, standing on his tiptoes a bit to reach up to her.

 

“Two,” She continues, leaning in to meet him.

 

“One,” he finishes, less than an inch from her lips just before pressing his against hers.

 

It’s definitely not the best kiss he’s ever had, and he’s kissed far too many people for it to be the worst. Kissing Yasha’s is quite comparable to kissing a brick wall, which some people may be into, but he’s always been a fan of pizazz. Some tongue there, some teeth over here. He’ll also never say no to being pinned against a wall while someone is kissing him senseless. He finds it’s the best marker of a good shag.

 

Yasha is the one to pull away, and Molly watches her reaction with an inquisitive eye, “So? Thoughts?”

 

She licks her lips, smacking them together, “My lips are tingling.”

 

He does the same, “So’re mine.”

 

“Does that always happen?”

 

He laughs, “No, friend, I believe that’d be the drugs we’re feeling.”

 

 

 

 

_2\. affection_

 

He isn’t surprised that Jester is the second. Within the first couple of weeks of travel with his new companions, he finds himself drawn to her the most. It’s easy being around another tiefling. No gawking at overly-sharp teeth, or weirdly coloured eyes, and the etiquette about tails is fully understood when interacting with one’s own kind.

 

They’re the last two at the bar for the night, everyone else has gone to bed. Molly watches intently as Jester carefully carves a dick into the wood of the table. She’s smiling, and he can feel her legs gently kicking against his under the table. When she’s done her lewd carving she blows away the shavings, looking quite pleased at her handiwork.

 

“You know, I don’t quite understand you,” he says, taking a drink of his ale.

 

“What is there to understand? I am pretty simple,” she replies, a smile on her face.

 

He shakes his head, leaning in closer to her, “No, no, there’s more. Past the happiness and the dick carvings there has to be more.”

 

“What do your cards say, Molly?” She leans in as well.

 

He lifts a finger, tapping it against her nose. She turns her eyes inwards to look at it, “Not even the cards can reveal such mysteries, love. Sometimes we must be brave enough to reveal them on our own.”

 

“Molly,” she leans back into her chair, taking a drink, “Molly, Molly, Molly. Molly. I see what you are doing here.”

 

“Oh, really?”

 

“I am very smart, you know.”

 

“Oh, I am quite aware.”

 

“And I know, like, a _lot_ of things.”

 

“Like what?”

 

She leans in once more, tapping him on the nose, “I know that people who ask questions, don’t like answering them.”

 

He grins, knowing that she’s seen through his little inquisition, “Smart girl.”

 

She preens, leaning back once more to take another drink. He quickly follows her, pecking her on the lips before she moves away. When he leans back his lips taste like an odd mix of ale and candy. It’s pleasant, and entirely Jester.

 

She’s beaming at him when he opens his eyes, “Molly.”

 

“Yes, dear?”

 

“You just kissed me.”

 

He chuckles, “I kiss everyone,” he smiles into his tankard.

 

“Yes, but you kissed _me_ first.”

 

“Actually, dear, Yasha was the first to have the pleasure.”

 

 

 

 

_3\. distraction_

 

“Gods be damned-- put out the fire dammit!” He calls out, rushing towards Caleb’s side. He throws his swords to the ground, magic leaving them as they leave his hands.

 

“Wha--?” Beau replies, looking around confusedly.

 

“The damned body put it out.” He shouts back as he kneels before Caleb, whose collapsed to the ground in his panic. Molly tries to assess the situation, looking at Caleb’s body to see if he’s been hurt in any way, but he seems to be fine in the physical sense. As Molly looks up to this face, he sees Caleb’s lips move incessantly, as if he was chanting the words to a spell without drawing any magic.

 

“Caleb, can you hear me?” Molly asks, bringing up a hand to cup his cheek. Caleb doesn’t react. He stares at the ground. There’s a tear running down his cheek, clearing a path through the grime that covers his cheek.

 

“Is he all right, Molly?” Fjord asks from behind him.

 

“Caleb?” Nott comes beside him, lifting up one of Caleb’s hands and then letting it go, only to watch fall back to his knee.

 

“Why don’t you just slap him again, Molly?” Jester interjects.

 

“S’not the nicest way to wake up from something like this, dear. Trust me on that.”

 

“So what do we do?” Nott asks, her big yellow eyes looking towards Molly.

 

He shakes Caleb’s shoulder, “Caleb? C’mon, friend, you need to come back now. There’s no use chasing rabbits down their holes.”

 

Caleb bright blue eyes suddenly turn to look at him, though they appear to be unfocused, as if he’s looking straight past something, “They screamed as they burned,” Caleb whispers, breath catching in his throat as if he were choking on a plume of smoke.

 

“They’re not here, Caleb,” Molly says, resting his forehead against Caleb’s, “We are, you are. Come back.”

 

In a last-ditch attempt to bring him out of whatever haze Caleb’s in, Molly presses a soft kiss to the other man’s lips. They’re dry and cracked, rough against Molly’s softer skin. He doesn’t deepen in it, doesn’t press any closer.

 

Caleb gasps, like a man just saved from drowning. His eyes begin to blink incessantly, as he lifts a shaking hand up to his lips, “That was much nicer than the slap.”

 

“There he is,” Molly smiles, before pressing another kiss to Caleb’s forehead and walking off.

 

 

 

 

_4\. aggravation_

 

He’s revived about six seconds before Beau is, which is just enough to come up with some choice insults before she violently awakes with a gasp, body shooting up from the ground.

 

“What the fuck did you do that for?” He shouts at her as she looks up towards him, eyes still in a haze. She takes a second to fully assess the situation, suddenly realizes that he’s angry at her (what’s new) and immediately fires back.

 

“What the fuck did _I_ do? What the fuck did _you_ do, asshole?” She asks, standing up so that she can look right in his face. They’re both still bleeding heavily, him from the cuts on his neck, her from her nose and a cut above her eyebrow. She shoves a finger into his chest, and he winces when she hits a particularly nasty bruise.

 

“You were being reckless, almost got yourself killed.”

 

“You cut yourself with your own swords, you’re calling _me_ reckless?”

 

“You don’t just run into a fight like that!”

 

“You fucking followed me, asshat!”

 

“Because you were being reckless!”

 

“So were you!”

 

“So I could save your ass, sunflower!”

 

“Well, I don’t need to be saved by you.”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s-”

 

They’re so close together that it’s easy to just grab her face and plant one on her lips, to get her to shut up if nothing else. She doesn’t respond for the first second or two, but after her initial surprise, she becomes just as aggressive as he is, pulling his upper lip into her mouth just to bite it. He gives as good as he gets, biting her lip in return just before she’s able to push him away with a shove to the chest. He scrambles backwards, almost falling over.

 

The entire party is silent for a second before Beau explodes once more, “Dude! What the fuck was that for?”

 

“I needed you to shut up.”

 

“So you kissed me?”

 

“I’m starting to regret it myself, snowflake.”

 

“Well, don’t do it again.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Okay, stupid-heads, we all know you both love each other,” Jester interjects between them, shoving them apart so that she can drag Beau away, “Come help me loot the bodies, Beau.”

 

Yasha steps in front of Molly so that he can’t follow, arms-crossed and looking very disappointed in him, “You shouldn’t provoke her like that.”

 

“You should provoke her more,” He replies, lifting up an arm to wipe his bleeding lip on his sleeve.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re missing out friend, she’d be a pretty good lay.”

 

Yasha cuffs him upside the head.

 

 

 

_5\. consolation_

 

It’s a routine he starts when they first went to Zadash, and one he continues when they arrive in Rexxentrunn. No matter how much money they have, no matter how many new shiny things adorn her person, Nott still has very sticky fingers, and she’s very keen to use them. By his logic, it never hurts to have a little backup.

 

So he wanders around the market, a few steps behind Nott, as she skips through the vendors pocketing whatever she can get her little-clawed hands on. She’s wearing a bright yellow dress under her comparatively drab cloak, and if one did not examine her too closely she looked just like a child.

 

He’s standing at a jewelry stand, looking at the various baubles and gemstones while the vendor prattles on in front of him. He’s one good decision away from buying a lovely purple gem to hang off of his horns when he hears a shout, followed by a chorus of screaming while a hoard of people come running past him. Dropping the object of his attention, he plants one of his hands on the hilt of a scimitar, and moves his gaze to his left, only to see a small childlike figure being chased by a group of Crownsguard.

 

“Fuck.”

 

With a jolt, he sprints off behind the pursuers, the vendor he was previously talking to shouting from behind him. His robes flap out behind him, revealing the scimitars that hide beneath them, and suddenly more screams ring out as people watch him go by, the blades gleaming in the afternoon sun.

 

He speeds up as much as he can, closing the distance between him and the guards. He then draws his hand across his sword, holding it out in front of him as the blood runs down his palm. In the next second, the guard at the front of the pack trips over his feet and is sent to the ground, which makes the two trailing behind trip over him. In the confusion, Molly jumps over them and stoops down to scoop Nott up in his arms, continuing to run as fast as he can.

 

“Halt!” One of the Crownsguard says from behind them. Molly picks up speed, ducking into an alleyway between two buildings, then turns left. From his arms, Nott peeks out just behind his shoulder to take a look behind him.

 

“There’s still two more,” she says.

 

“Give me a mo, I’ve got an idea,” he replies, looking at the signs of the buildings that they’re running past. When he finds one with what looks to be two tankards painted on the wood, he runs into the building and quickly lets Nott back onto the floor of the tavern.

 

“Go through the kitchen out back and find a place to hide, I’ll lead them away,” he tells her. She scampers off towards the back room, without anyone even taking a glance.

 

“You there, stop running!” Someone shouts from behind him. He, of course, does the exact opposite and runs towards the stairs leading up from the tavern to the rooms of the inn above, the guards hot on his trail. He races up to the top floor of the inn, thanks the Dragon that someone has decided to come out of their room at the exact second he needs, and rushes past the inn’s patron into their room, throwing himself off the balcony.

 

He keeps his hand outstretched behind, groans when he catches on to the balcony of the room below him. He scampers onto it, crouching down in the corner, and crosses his fingers that the guards won’t follow.

 

“Move aside,” he hears one of the guards say from above him, followed by the sound of footsteps on the balcony he just jumped off of.

 

“Where’d he go?” Another one says.

 

“Must still be in the building, search the rest of the rooms,” the first one commands, and the footsteps walk away.

 

He takes a deep breath and takes the rest of the balconies down into the alleyway behind the building.

 

“Nott?” He whispers.

 

“I’m over here,” she whispers back, from behind a pile of trash where she’s curled up.

 

He walks over to her, and crouches down to her eye level, “You all right? Did they hurt you at all?”

 

She lifts up her hand, showing one of her fingers that sits at a weird angle, “My bandages slipped, he saw my hand and… I’m sorry.”

 

“What you got to be sorry for?”

 

“I shouldn’t have… but it was so shiny… and I didn’t think.”

 

“Remember what I said about grumpy people? He probably deserved it.” He says, leaning in to press a kiss on the lips of the porcelain mask that covers her face. It’s cold, unfeeling, but he hopes it gets the message across.

 

“Oh, well. Okay. All right. We should just be going then. To the others. I need Jester to heal my hand,” Nott says afterwards, scurrying off and leaving Molly in the alleyway alone.

 

If the mask wasn’t on, he swore that he would have seen her blush.

 

 

 

_6\. attraction_

 

Molly has a problem. It’s green, and handsome, and has an accent. A very nice accent. And very nice other things. And by his own knowledge, Molly has been doing everything right. He talks just right, and flirts just right, and suggests things that he wouldn’t say to anyone else but someone he wants to sleep with. Except he’s been sleeping in the same room with the man for months now, and it’s always been in separate beds.

 

It needs to stop, he’s decided, one night when they’re the last two in the tavern and he’s had much more to drink than he should.

 

“I don’t get it,” he starts, taking a swig from his ale.

 

“Get what, Molly?” Fjord asks, lifting up an eyebrow as he knocks back his third shot of whiskey for the night.

 

“Why you won’t sleep with me.”

 

“What?” Fjord sputters, coughing into his hand.

 

“I mean I flirt with you.”

 

“You flirt with everyone.”

 

“I kiss you.”

 

“Again, you kiss everyone.”

 

“And you say nothing.”

 

“Well-”

 

“I mean if you don’t want to just tell me. I’m a big boy y’know.”

 

“Molly, I-”

 

“‘Cause I’d stop if you didn’t. Don’t want to be making you feel uncomfortable.”

 

“Well, I’m not about to say no.”

 

Molly stops his rambling, “Oh.”

 

Fjord takes the last of his shots, sighing before he begins to speak again, “I just didn’t know, exactly _how_ you felt.”

 

“Because I flirt with everyone.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Because I kiss everyone.”

 

“Again, yes.”

 

“Oh,” Molly takes another swig of ale, letting it sit in his mouth for a second as he contemplates Fjord’s words. He can feel Fjord’s eyes on him as he swallows his drink. Within the next second, he makes his decision, and leans across the table to Fjord, pressing their lips together.

 

It’s not a kiss that he would give to a friend, and he tries to convey that when he opens his mouth, requesting entrance with his tongue. Fjord gives it to him, but he doesn’t push any further than that. He tastes like whiskey, with the slightest hint of saltwater. When Fjord tries to pull away after a couple of seconds, Molly places a hand on the back of his neck, forcing him to stay as he kisses him one more time.

 

“So?” Molly asks when he backs away, breath coming out in small pants of air.

 

“I think I got the message,” Fjord replies.

 

“Shall we move this conversation upstairs, then?”

 

“Conversation?”

 

“Well, I figure we should start with talking, and see if it moves anywhere past that.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhh this took a lot longer than I thought it would. Like... two weeks.
> 
> Kudos and comments are as appreciated as Molly's forehead kisses.


End file.
